Hate That I Love You
by antisocialgod
Summary: They hated each other. They loved each other. And they pretended they felt nothing at all.


**Title:** Hate That I Love You  
**Rating:** PG? I don't know, there might be some language and sex implied. Nothing worse than that.  
**Pairings:** Rachel/Quinn  
**Length:** 4,368  
**Spoilers:** None, because it's sort of AU.  
**Summary: **They _hated_ each other. They _loved_ each other. And they pretended like they felt _nothing at all._  
**Disclaimer:** Everything you recognize is not mine.  
**Author's note: **CASSIE MADE THIS PRETTY. And she chose the title. She's my amazing beta, and I love her. Also, this is sort of angsty. So yeah. Nobody dies, though. Or is in a coma. Nobody gets physically hurt, alright? There.

* * *

It was a beautiful and warm summer morning. The sun invaded the room through the windows, flickering its rays over the two bodies that were lying in bed, tangled with each other, the only way to tell them apart being the different skin tones. Their faces showed expressions of delight and fulfillment, that would soon change when reality crashed through them and woke them up from their peaceful slumber, the only time when everything was easy and remotely _right_.

One of them was a brunette; her tiny body – with surprisingly long legs – occupied the left side of the bed, or, well, it would have if her face wasn't pressed against the crook of her partner's neck, and her legs weren't tangled with pale ones. Said legs belonged to the other girl, fair skin and blonde hair sprawling on the pillows, her arm wrapped possessively around the brunette's midsection, her breathing slow and peaceful, a small smile showing on lips that usually did nothing but smirk.

That wasn't the first time it had happened. No, definitely not. It had happened many times before, and even though things weren't perfect, they always seemed to find themselves back on each other's arms when the day came to an end. It was dysfunctional, to say the least; they hated each other and suddenly found themselves infatuated.

When it all started, there was nothing but denial. They were enemies, they weren't supposed to be feeling waves of desire that seemed to crash over them, breaking their resistance as if it was nothing but a mere obstacle. It was understandable that they would fight those feelings; neither of them had ever felt something quite like that, but yet they both knew good things could never come from them. It was always hard to trust the unknown, but the sheer power of it was simply too strong for them to fight; they were on the ground before they could even notice the arrival of the knockout punch.

Then came the fights. Only, this time, they weren't stupid arguments anymore. It was as if the harder they tried to fight whatever it was settling inside them, the harder it came back in the next round.

Until one day, when they found a way to compromise that seemed to put an end to whatever it was they had been arguing about. It was not right, by any means, and it usually led to days of self-loathing that were followed by more fights only to end up right were they had before: tangled in each other, their breathing irregular and their bodies covered in sweat. They fought, they spent some time apart and then they made up; it was like a never-ending cycle, a whirlwind they apparently were stuck in. One way or another, they always ended up together, and it didn't matter how hard they tried to fight it.

It was obvious that none of them would ever admit to it, but the entire thing had evolved, blown out of proportions and it had become more than something they did only for pleasure. In their relationship - or whatever twisted version of a relationship they had - pride was bigger than love, or what they knew of it. It was wrong and they both knew it, knew that they could never go somewhere, could never get two wrongs to make a right, but neither of them was ready to let it go. They couldn't stand the idea of being the one to give up, to quit, and end up the coward. They hurt each other, mistaking their lust and stubbornness for love, completely mistaking the meaning of that word, and tried to fit their twisted relationship into a category that it would never truly be a part of. They didn't know love; they only knew the need to feel and hurt, but at the end of the day, it was better than nothing.

Or so they thought.

They kept making the wrong decisions; who cared about feelings anyways? Even if the slightest possibility of feeling something real for each other was considered all they had to do, or well, all they _didn't_ have to do was voice it. They had fallen into some sort of messed up pattern, and it would be stupid to try and change things, to break the balance and risk tipping the balance. They couldn't risk it. The brunette had always been so focused, doing anything and everything to have things the way she wanted them, and nothing could ever ruin her plan. She wouldn't allow it, wouldn't throw away everything she had conquered just to bet on something that clearly wasn't worth it. It was a match made in hell: her partner seemed to consider her image more important than anything, and so it wasn't hard to pretend that they weren't doing anything wrong.

They used each other to forget the world around them, but when the morning rolled around, they meant nothing to each other. Or maybe they did, but to acknowledge that would ruin their perfect lives.

Deep inside, they knew exactly what it was, their dance of fury and hatred and passion; a lie. All the screams of anger and the proclamations of hate, the moments they spent calling each other names, throwing things at the walls and trying to put each other down. They tried to put their feelings down as the lie, but in reality, that was the only thing that was true in their lives. And yet, they chose their life in a world of fantasy, rather than facing the true nature of their feelings and trying to make something out of it. They didn't have anything real. They didn't want it. They just wanted to feel and forget. That was enough for them.

Except when it wasn't.

The truth was, they needed each other. Things were never easy when they were in close proximity, and their "relationship" was as twisted as it could be, but they just couldn't seem to be able to pull away from each other, to part their own ways and forget they had ever felt warm hands against their bodies, and rash kisses that always ended up tender and caring before they could notice what was happening. No matter how bad the fights were, how often the murderous glances took their eyes, or how awkward the long moments of silence could get, they wanted – needed, even - that piece of each other more than they could ever begin to admit.

* * *

Still with her thoughts on the previous night, the brunette opened her eyes, getting used to the light that invaded her room. Her pastel walls seemed to be staring at her, her belongings all scattered around the room, in what she liked to call her 'organized mess'. Her fathers would like to argue that she had too many useless things; too many Broadway memorabillia, and other things she would never use in her life – like a strand of Barbra Streisand's hair – but the truth was that she could never get rid of those things. No matter how useless they might have been, she tended to hold on to everything, which ironically described the way she felt about the blond that was lying next to her.

Slowly, she got up and made her way to the bathroom, as she took a change of clothes from her closet. Still lost in her thoughts, she undressed herself and got in the shower, letting the hot water find its way through her small but well-shaped body, a result of countless mornings waking up early to exercise and years of dancing training. Her head was roiling with a thousand different thoughts, as usual, but this time she didn't like the nature of them. Ideas would come and go out of nowhere and each one of them sounded more absurd than the last one. Fabray was stupid, egotistic, and Rachel knew she was trying to hurt herself engaging in whatever it was that they had. From the very beginning Quinn had warned her she wasn't good and that the idea was entirely stupid. She'd warned her that they would end up hurting each other even more, but for some reason she couldn't even explain to herself, Rachel didn't care about that._ 'Maybe,_' she used to say. _'I have masochistic tendencies.'_ Despite the jokes, though, when Quinn began to pull away, Rachel found herself hurting over that decision. She knew that Quinn was probably as scared than she was – if not more – because they were both beginning to realize that they couldn't have this kind of relationship without feelings involved, no matter how hard they tried.

Quinn stayed, of course. It's not like she could breakaway from that, even if she wanted to. However, she became more cold and distant, which was something, considering Quinn Fabray was not the most loving person to begin with. She never stopped calling, never stopped showing up when she needed something or when Rachel was in dire need to forget the world around her, but it just wasn't the same anymore. It felt like Quinn had come to a point where she despised herself and what they were doing so much that she couldn't even bring herself to pretend that she wanted to be there. It looked as if she'd finally woken up from her dream and didn't want to continue playing their dysfunctional game any longer and, as much as she tried to deny, Rachel was hurting over that. She felt as if Quinn was paying her back for all the times she had been aloof, acting as if nothing mattered and that they didn't have anything. Karma was indeed a bitch, and she was finding out the hard way. It was as if it was all coming back to her with an intensity that she couldn't bear. She was hurting, yes, but she wouldn't admit that. Never. She was too prideful to acknowledge the fact that she needed anyone but herself. She would stay rooted in her place, waiting for Quinn to make the first move, to allow things to change and maybe face that they couldn't keep lying to each other, to themselves and to their feelings.

She only waited, however, because she knew that it would never happen. She used the waiting as an excuse not to make the first move. She used the waiting as an excuse not to throw her heart on the line and get hurt even more.

* * *

_She was sitting on a picnic table, her head in her hands, trying to stop the stupid thoughts that were running through her head, fooling herself into thinking they would just disappear by the sheer power of her will. She knew good and well how useless it was; it seemed that those thoughts were plaguing her mind and had no intention whatsoever of leaving her alone. So she found herself sitting alone, long after school left out, thinking about how annoying Quinn Fabray was and how much she wanted to feel that horrible mouth doing incredible things to her. She couldn't think that, she shouldn't, and she had to find a way to make it stop. She wanted to murder Quinn, something she had never felt in her entire life. She just wanted to make her pay for everything she did to her._

_Torture?_

_No, that would bring problems. _

_Poison?_

_Too fast. _

_She could break her neck, that would be painful and extremely pleasurable at the same time…_

_Thousands of ideas were running through her mind, but she couldn't find one she deemed punishment enough for all the years Quinn spent torturing her – both with her word and her body. No matter how hard she tried, there was only one idea that kept coming back and she just couldn't consider that. Just couldn't. It was forbidden. Something against all the laws of nature, men and possibly even God, if he really existed._

_"And since when did abiding by the rules became more important than getting what you want, Rachel?" her inner voice spoke, taunting and teasing like it had many times before, and she knew it was true. She always got what she wanted, but she couldn't want Quinn Fabray, could she? The entire idea was stupid, it was wrong and she shouldn't even be considering it. Quinn Fabray had tortured her, made her out to be a freak, and she couldn't ignore all that just for the pleasure of having the other girl scratching the itch she felt inside her body whenever brown eyes locked with hazel ones. The entire thing was confusing, and Rachel didn't like to feel like that. So vulnerable, a slave of her own needs, ignoring her common sense completely while the realistic part of her screamed things wouldn't – couldn't – end well. She didn't know what to think, she didn't know what to do. _

_For the first time in her life, Rachel Berry didn't have a plan._

_She didn't know how to make that desire - that need that seemed to be eating her inside - to go away._

_"Focus, Rachel. It's an easy matter and you can find a way to deal with it without making stupid decisions. You're a planner, it can't possibly be that hard."_

_"Well, I'd always known that you were a freak, Berry, but talking to yourself is taking that to a whole new level." The blonde she had just been contemplating - who had apparently showed up out of nowhere - remarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm, something Rachel had gotten used over the years._

_"I think that whatever I do with my life, is none of your business, Fabray. And that includes whether I talk to myself or not." she spoke, clenching her hands in fists, trying to fight the desire to jump on the girl – whether to hurt her or to kiss her, she didn't know. "What are you doing here?"_

_"Funny, Berry, what I do with my life is none of your business as well," the blonde answered in the same strained tone but Rachel was too busy trying to keep her eyes from roaming the cheerleader's body._

_She couldn't control herself anymore. The truth, as much as she wanted to deny it, was that Quinn caught her attention more than anyone else was ever able to, and she was just too tired to fight whatever it was that she was feeling inside of her. The fireworks that exploded in her body whenever their eyes met, the need to feel those rosy lips against hers, and the desire to make Quinn scream her name until she couldn't speak anymore. She had to do something or she would never forgive herself._

_She would later blame her stupid teenage hormones – or even her own stupidity – but before she could restrain herself, she was standing up and getting closer to the other girl, who unconsciously took a step back – and another – until she found herself trapped against another picnic table. Rachel noticed that Quinn's breathing was out of time and she was starting to sweat, even though it was rather cool outside. She didn't say anything else – even if words seemed to be her strong point . Instead, she just pressed her lips to the plump, pink ones that exhaled stuttering breaths, right in front of her and seemingly waiting for it. And even though it felt wrong, more than anything she'd ever considered to do in her life, she couldn't help but feel it was more right than anything she had ever done at the same time._

_And when Quinn kissed her back, she knew they were too far gone to be saved._

* * *

It wasn't right. It wasn't meant to go as far as it had. It had been just a kiss. Just so she could know how it felt, and then they were supposed to part their ways and forget that it ever happened. It was supposed to be a fluke and nothing more. They weren't supposed to keep doing it, to fall into this pattern of stolen kisses and tender nights following after their hate-filled days. It was supposed to be over the minute it started.

They weren't supposed to _need_ each other.

She just wanted to taste her; she hadn't meant to get addicted to those lips. That smell, her voice or the way her hips moved when she walked away. But somehow, Rachel managed to crawl under Quinn's skin and find a way to break the wall the other girl had built around herself. They got to each other's last nerve, but they also knew each other better than anyone else.

But she couldn't let herself be taken away by her feelings, the same feelings she refused to acknowledge. No, all she had to do now was build her own wall back, exactly like Quinn was doing. _Self-preservation_. If Quinn wanted to leave, Rachel wouldn't be the one to stop her. Maybe, one day, when they weren't under the pressure of high school and were mature enough to deal with their feelings, things could work. But at that moment, they both knew that no matter how much they wanted each other, or how much they claimed to feel something akin to love, they shouldn't be together.

It wasn't right, it wasn't healthy, and it was tearing them apart.

Distance would make them grow; would make them learn how to deal with everything they felt. And maybe in the future, if it was meant to be, they would find a way to be happy. They would find a way to love each other because of their flaws and not despite them. They would live and love in a relationship that wasn't consumed by hate and love in equal amounts, like this twisted romance they lead, this mess they had made that was destroying them bit by bit.

* * *

She got in the shower and waited; eventually she knew Quinn would sneak out of her room and later they would meet again in school, only to continue to pretend they hadn't just been in each other's arms mere hours before. Quinn would call her Man Hands – not Rachel, not baby, definitely not love – and order someone to throw a slushie on her. They would fight about it, and Quinn would throw some harsh words her way, just like she always did and just like she always would. It wasn't to say that Rachel accepted that; she didn't. She fought Quinn back with the same intensity, but in the end, the blonde always seemed to work her way around her defenses and she would end up once again losing herself to the feel of Quinn's lips against hers, the warmth of her hands and her body pressing against hers.

She felt like a yo-yo. It was like Quinn pushed her back and forth, but she just didn't have the strenght to fight her. She never did. Since the first time her lips touched the blonde's she knew she was lost forever. It was intoxicating, the best feeling she'd ever felt, and no matter how wrong their relationship was, she just couldn't let go; couldn't imagine not feeling like that every night when they were trapped in their own bubble, where the world couldn't touch them and they were the only ones who could hurt each other (which they did very often, but also found a way to soothe those wounds, and ended up working somehow). She couldn't make sense of it, and she'd stopped trying a long time ago. She'd tried to break away, live her life as if Quinn didn't exist, but she always ended up coming back.

Always.

The system worked, but it was flawed and slowly running its effectiveness into the ground. Deep inside, Rachel couldn't help but wonder if the day would come where Quinn would push her away and she would never come back, because it was finally just _too much _to bear any longer, too much abuse and wear and tear. She felt like it was exactly what she should do, maybe even now, and yet she didn't know if she was strong enough for that decision. She had tried so many times before, why would things be different if she tried again? It was all too hard and she was only a sixteen year old girl.

So she would keep making mistakes, because in the end, she knew that as long as she didn't pull too far away, Quinn wouldn't either.

* * *

_"I can't do this, Quinn." she said, fighting the tears that were threatening to fall down her cheeks_

_"You...can't?" Quinn's voice was nothing more than a whisper, and even though Rachel could hear a hint of brokenness in the two words, she didn't put much stock in it. Quinn didn't care about her._

_"It's not right. We are not okay and we won't be," she ran one hand through her hair, taking a deep breath to keep her tears at bay. She refused to cry in front of the girl who'd already hurt her so much. "We just can't keep going like this. You won't change and we know good and well that I won't either. This...relationship won't change. I believe that taking some time apart is the best we can do now."_

_"Okay," Quinn said, her voice sounding cold and detached, her eyes focusing on anything but Rachel's face. "See you around."_

_The blonde got up and placed a quick kiss in Rachel's lips, walking out of the door for what would be the first of many times in the years to come. Rachel's heart was pounding loud on her chest, seeming to exclaim its need for the blonde to come back through the door, for Quinn to need Rachel and want her and fight for her. She knew that this break wasn't final; she wasn't stupid enough to tell herself that. And no matter how many times they went through this moment, this push that would end with the inevitable pull, she could never bring herself to find it wrong. Better yet, she couldn't find it in herself to claim it was right. It had always been wrong to her. Ever since she had first thought of kissing Quinn, ever since she let the blonde cheerleader take her heart and do with it what she would. She knew it was wrong, knew that don't matter how hard they tried, it would never be right, but she just couldn't say no to Quinn. Couldn't let go of whatever it was that they had._

_**

* * *

**_

Maybe, her biggest mistake was to believe that people could change. Or worse, that Quinn _would_ change. Or that they both would, because while she might be a lot of things, a hypocrite wasn't one of them. She was wrong to pretend she didn't feel anything, but now it was time to protect herself. It was long overdue, actually. She knew that Quinn wasn't ready for something more, she knew that she herself wasn't ready to say what her heart told her every time Quinn's lips met her own. What Quinn was offering her wasn't enough and there were plenty of people out there that could give her what she was looking for. Finn was ready and waiting, and he was sweet and loving, and even though she didn't feel the spark of _want _that she did with him that she did with Quinn, he treated her with love and care, with affection that Quinn was hard-pressed to bring to their messed up charade.

Maybe she wouldn't be able to forget Quinn. No, Rachel _knew_ she wouldn't. She knew that everytime she looked at the small scars all over her body she would be reminded of how she got them, the way Quinn's teeth tore her skin open or her nails dug around her sides when they were so lost in each other that the pain hid itself behind pleasure and didn't rear it's head until it was daylight and their contempt for one another had set in. She knew she would never be able to forget her because Quinn had forever left her mark on her, not only on her body, but also on her heart, her soul. But she would never forgive herself if she didn't try. Anything was better than what she had now. It had to be. The idea of backing away - even if she felt her heart clenching everytime she thought about it - seemed to be the best solution at that moment.

The _only_ solution.

As of that moment, she was letting go of Quinn Fabray.

She would be just a part of her past. Momentarily, at least, because no matter how hard she tried to fool herself, she knew that Quinn would _always_ be a part of her life. Past, Present and Future. And that was just the beginning of her story. A story without good or bad girls. A story where the end wasn't happy, because there wasn't one. Or even a story for that matter.

They _hated_ each other. They _loved_ each other. And they pretended like they felt _nothing at all._

A person couldn't live in this pattern with a sense of safety. They let go of each other, just to find their way back into their arms once again. It was the only way they found to deal with the intensity of their feelings. Sometimes it was too much, and they wanted to walk away, burn their bridges and finally and forever leave it behind. But it seemed as if a magnet always managed to pull them back together, and even though things weren't easy – would never be – they had their little moments of bliss somewhere in that midst of destruction and complication they called their lives together.

It wasn't perfect, and it never would be. But that was okay. If someone had ever said that perfect relationships existed, well, someone lied.


End file.
